


Wanna Be Yours

by killuatrash (Epic_F_Awesomesauce)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Tumblr AU, also hunk and pidge try to interfere, angst also, army shiro, hopefully slowburn actually, hunk and pidge are ace btw and love robots, i can turn anything into angst my man, i love that angst, im usually very hurried in these sorts of things, is there gonna be sex in this? i am unsure, its washington bc i live there too, keiths family is in the army, or like near seattle, roommate au, slowburn, theres kissing and hugging though so unless ur kink is love dont read, they live in seattle, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 03:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epic_F_Awesomesauce/pseuds/killuatrash
Summary: Keith was sitting on the (shitty, half falling apart) couch, staring at the blue screen of the TV that Lance had not been able to switch from Component 1 back to regular TV, and his entire world was falling apart, because Hunk had asked out someone from his Robotics Club, and he and Lance were celebrating, which meant that Hunk and Lance weren’t dating.College Roommate AU where Keith has a crush on Lance but he thinks Lance and Hunk are dating, and when he finds out they're not he does his best to ~seduce~ Lance. Shenanigans ensue. Rated FA for Future Angst.Ft. theatre kid Lance, art kid Keith, and robotics kid Pidge and Hunk.





	1. The First Chapter My Main Man

When Keith left for college, he didn’t tell anyone he was going.

He’d saved up enough for a plane ticket months before and had just been waiting for the first day of term so that he could be off. He didn’t even tell his parents that he’d put in any applications anywhere, and definitely didn’t tell them that he wasn’t going into the military like his older brother had. The most he’d even done to inform them of the fact that he was moving out at all, in fact, was to send Shiro a text that said _c u next summer_. He’d then turned off his phone. It was easier to leave when no one knew he was going.

Boarding the plane by himself was a little scary, but Keith had boarded many a plane before. He pretended that there was someone else with him and it made him feel a little better. When he had to speak to people, he pretended to be Shiro. Shiro was good at talking to people, and he smiled. Keith didn’t.

The flight was at nine p.m., and it was eight hours. Well, it was technically supposed to be seven hours and forty minutes, but they experienced minor turbulence and so it ended up taking a bit longer. Keith didn’t sleep the entire way, too nervous thinking about what college would be like and if his luggage (which consisted of all of his belongings, ever) would actually make it to Seattle with him.

When he actually got to Seattle (or rather, SeaTac Airport), it was five a.m. his time, but two a.m. in Washington. He hailed a taxi outside of the airport (he channeled his inner Shiro-in-New-York and a taxi came right away) and asked to be taken to Kent. Kent was where his new apartment was, and where his new roommates were supposed to be. He felt bad about walking in at two in the morning, but what else could he do? He wasn’t about to wait around outside with the entirety of his possessions just so that he could avoid waking them. Plus he had texted them that evening (before he’d turned off his phone and boarded the plane) that he was going to be showing up around then.

As they drove through the cities surrounding SeaTac airport Keith noticed how many people were out and about even though it was two in the morning. He had expected it to pretty much be dead at this time of night, but instead it was alive in a way he hadn’t ever known the night could be. Every time he’d been outside at night while in Virginia he’d been terrified, for some unknowable reason, but here there were so many people out that he felt safe.

The drive was long and surprisingly slow. Google Maps had said that it would only be around twenty minutes (seventeen, to be exact) to get from the SeaTac airport to Kent, but it was actually more like thirty because of traffic. Keith was nearly vibrating with nerves in the back of the cab, his grip on the handles of his duffel bag carry-on the only thing that was keeping him anything close to sane. He kept thinking about his luggage in the trunk, wondering if it had fallen out or if he would forget it. He knew, realistically, that luggage could not fall out of a car that had its trunk closed, but _what if it did_. This was one of those moments when he’d usually be texting Shiro, but he hadn’t turned on his phone since before he’d gotten on his flight and it didn’t seem right to do it now, before he had even made it to the apartment.

Or rather, to his new home.

The cab pulled to a rather sudden stop in front of a dingy-looking apartment building. Keith was surprised by the jolt, as he had been busy watching the rain merge and mix on the windows. He liked the way the lights of the city flickered through the water staining the glass. It didn’t usually rain in Virginia.

The apartment building was made of gray, gray cement, and had a rickety looking metal staircase going up one side that seemed to be the only point of access, besides an even more rickety (and kind of rusty) fire escape. Keith thought he’d rather risk jumping off the building then trying to climb down it. At least the main set of stairs had a plastic canopy that seemed to cover it fairly well. There were also little canopies over most of the windows, and they all had cement flower-boxes, though the majority of them were empty.

“Do you need any help with your luggage?” asked the cab driver gruffly, as if he’d really rather not.

“I don’t know,” Keith said, nervous but trying to hide it. “Just- let me call my roommates real quick.”

When he turned on his phone (for the first time in nearly nine hours) it was so bright in the night darkness that he almost dropped it. He really did drop it when it started vibrating in his hand, finally receiving all the messages and notifications he’d gotten since he’d left. 23 missed calls, 57 unanswered texts, a couple snapchats from Shiro, and a couple other random alerts. He swiped everything away, then called the number of “Hunk”. It rang once, twice, and then someone picked up.

“IS THIS KEITH?” yelled a voice from the other end. Keith dropped his phone again, swearing as it disappeared into the darkness underneath his seat. This was, of course, the moment that both of his new roommates burst out of the apartment, tumbling down the stairs like they were auditioning for the part of a waterfall.

One was very large: tall with broad shoulders and hips. “Heavyset” was probably the polite term, but while they were texting Hunk had simply described himself as “fat and proud”. The other was skinny and lanky, wearing an over-sized green hoodie and jeans so tight Keith felt claustrophobic. Both of them seemed to be a couple inches taller than Keith, and both of them were practically shaking with excitement. Either that, or they were currently both experiencing an adrenaline rush from the way they’d run down the stairs.

Keith’s fingers finally found his phone and he quickly tucked it into his jacket pocket before opening the car door and stepping out, dragging his duffel behind him. He felt awkward and strangely self-conscious, but he barely had time to even notice it before Hunk and Lance were on him.

“I’M LANCE,” shrieked Lance, throwing himself at Keith like a drowning man throws himself to the coast guard.

“I’M HUNK,” cried Hunk, throwing his arms around the both of them for a big bear hug.

Keith had never been more uncomfortable in his life.

“I’m Keith,” Keith said when they (finally) pulled away. “I guess I’m your new roommate?”

Lance squealed like a small child, and Hunk danced around like he was warming up before a ballet recital.

“Okay,” Keith muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “Care to show me the apartment?”

Lance squealed again, and Hunk said, “Right this way! First, let’s grab your luggage though!”

Hunk immediately walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk as if he didn’t feel awkward at all, which Keith was thankful for because he didn’t know if he would have been able to open the trunk without either asking the cab driver for permission or sweating the entire time.

“Laaaaance,” Hunk sang.

“Huuuuunk,” Lance sang back, dancing smoothly over to the back of the car. Keith wondered if they would be like that for the entirety of the time he knew them, or just for tonight.

“Here, take these upstairs and show Keith the place. I’ll get the rest!”

“Okaaaaay,” Lance sang. He grabbed two bags that Keith hadn’t figured he would be able to pick up (he was even skinnier than Keith was, somehow) then headed toward the stairs. Keith quickly dug in his pocket for his wallet, gave the cab driver a fifty, then ran to follow.

 

***

 

On August twenty-ninth, exactly a week after Keith moved into his new apartment, school started.

Keith and Lance, it turned out, were actually going to the same arts college, while Hunk was going to a nearby tech institution. Lance was majoring in theatre, with an emphasis on musicals (which explained how outgoing he was, and why he sang all the time). Keith wasn’t quite sure what he was majoring in just yet, but he knew he liked to draw and he thought he was pretty okay at it, so he’d signed up for a couple art classes. Lance tried to bully him into taking some theatre, too, but Keith had left the room when it started getting too heated.

They commuted together, even though Lance’s first class was an hour after Keith’s. Keith appreciated it, but didn’t know exactly how to say that, so he instead bought Lance Starbucks. That was how he’d always told Shiro thanks.

Speaking of Shiro, things had not gone over very well with his family in Virginia. His step-mom had tried to be supportive, but his dad had just about completely shut down. Dad was a military man through and through, and the fact that Keith hadn’t followed in his older brother’s footsteps (like he was supposed to do with everything in his life) was a huge shock and disappointment to his family. Shiro was the nicest about it, but then again, Shiro was the nicest about pretty much everything. Keith’s father hadn’t really spoken to him since then, and Keith didn’t know if he should be angry or relieved.

One thing that Keith was fairly certain he was angry about, though, was the fact that apparently Lance and Hunk were dating and hadn’t thought to mention it on the Craigslist post about needing a roommate for the semester. Before moving in with a couple, Keith wouldn’t have thought that that was something that would need to be mentioned, but afterward, he realized that rooming with a couple was fucking annoying. They were constantly cuddling and hugging and singing duets in the kitchen while Hunk cooked and Lance did the dishes. Also, they showered together like once a week, and they were really noisy and completely unsubtle and were in there for a lot longer than Keith thought was reasonable.

Despite this, Keith settled in quickly. The apartment had two bedrooms, with Hunk and Lance sharing the bigger one and Keith’s across from theirs, between the kitchen (which was toward the back of the apartment, near the bigger window) and the bathroom (which was immediately off the small, claustrophobic entryway). It was the smallest of the bedrooms, but Keith’s room back home had been even smaller, and he actually liked it like this. There was enough space for all of his stuff (like his new bed and dresser), but there was also a big empty place in the middle of the room that he used to do his daily cardio and yoga.

Hunk and Lance were pretty annoying, but the background noise was nice. At home, it was usually always silent. Dad was always at work, and Shiro was usually on tour. Keith and his stepmom didn’t really get along, which was understandable, but still awkward. It was nice being with people who were so, well... comfortable. Lance and Hunk were comfortable with themselves, each other, and apparently with Keith as well.

 

***

 

Things only started to get complicated at the two-and-a-half week mark.

Lance and Keith, though they commuted to school together and bought each other Starbucks and packed each other lunches, could not stop fighting for anything.

Hunk had tried bribing them with cookies and even fancy mini cupcakes, but nothing he could say or do would stop Keith and Lance from constantly going at each other’s throats. Lance drove Keith crazy; he was too extroverted, and wouldn’t ever stop singing or dancing, and when he got something into his head there was apparently no way to convince him that it shouldn’t be like that, and he’d do everything in his power to get it to happen. If he thought that Keith should try green tea ice cream, then By God Keith would try it.

Keith, on the other hand, was completely opposed to anything that wasn’t familiar to him already, or was in any way new. On his first day of school he’d had a panic attack while Lance was in his last class of the day, just because everything was New and Different and Keith just… had to adjust. And to adjust, he needed to have a complete mental breakdown in one of the bathrooms for an hour.

Not just that, but Keith was stubborn, just like Lance. If Keith didn’t want to try green tea ice cream then By God he would not, and nothing Lance could say or do could make him.

The Green Tea Incident took place at a small cafe-type establishment that also had multiple interesting, strange flavors of ice cream. Lance loved the green tea ice cream, and Keith did not want to try it. Lance wanted Keith to try it, and Keith vowed that Lance would have to kill him and poor the stuff into his cold corpse mouth to get him to.

“Guys,” Hunk had said. “I don’t think it should matter this much. Lance, just leave it alone.”

“I’ll kill you right here and now,” said Lance, as if he hadn’t heard Hunk. “I’ll shovel all this goddamn green tea ice cream right in your fucking stupid mouth.”

Keith was unimpressed. “I don’t have all day,” he said. “I’m on a tight schedule, and have homework due tomorrow. If you’re going to kill me, do it now.”

“Please don’t kill anyone,” Hunk said weakly as Lance stood up from his chair, looking determined.

In less than five minutes they were banned from the establishment.

 

***

 

That wasn’t the only thing they fought about. Ice cream would be too simple and easy.

They fought also because Lance drove like a maniac, and Keith joked about dying a lot but didn’t actually want to go out as the passenger in Lance’s shitty 1990’s Corolla. If he was going to die in a car accident, he wanted it to at least be from the 2000’s, and he would prefer a motorcycle instead of a car.

They fought over the bathroom as well, and whose hair and skin products deserved which shelf (Keith deserved the middle one because it was right at his height), and who had to keep their cotton balls in the cabinet (Lance did), and who had spilled tomato sauce on the (shitty, falling apart) couch. (It had been both of them, but Hunk didn’t need to know that.) They fought over what sort of flowers to plant in the flower boxes, and what sort of job Keith should get (he was not going to be a mailman, Lance) and over which toothbrush belonged to who (Lance was, apparently, colorblind, because red and orange were not the same!). Sometimes they would fight over things that were so incredibly pointless that Hunk would have to excuse himself from the apartment, like where the scratches on the front of Lance’s bedroom door had come from (why did it matter?) and what people meant by “two-point-five kids”. (Was the point-five a baby, or did the family just have half a kid walking around the house? Was it joint custody? Lance claimed it was an extra ghost kid, and Keith threw a book at his face.)

Sometimes it got physical, too. Lance had come from a huge family, and fights were the norm, whereas Keith had come from a family where, well, fights were, again, the norm. He and Shiro were expected to be arm-wrestling at any given moment, and Lance had come from the chaotic sort of family where scuffling around on the floor for a bit over something stupid was how they worked things out. They wrestled a lot, and once they broke a vase that Hunk was apparently incredibly attached to, and he cried in the bathroom for three hours. Lance cried out in the living room for the same amount of time out of guilt, and Keith wrote out a heartfelt, touching apology card that had Hunk crying all over again once he’d finally gotten out.

When he looked at his situation from the outside, Keith understood that he and his roommates were, to repeat Lance, “drama ass bitches”, but somehow none of them could seem to help themselves. Maybe it was the fact that Lance was a theatre major, or maybe it was that Keith was making up for how little emotion he’d shown previously during his life. Maybe he and Lance were just meant to drive each other crazy.

Whatever it was, Keith really ought to have known that it would get worse.

 

***

 

Keith hadn’t ever really had a crush on anyone before.

Like, he knew what it was supposed to feel like. Something like butterflies in your stomach and being happy when you saw your “crush” and whatever, but considering he’d been secretly closeted all throughout high school, he hadn’t ever really experienced one. Liking boys gave him anxiety, and liking girls was completely out of the question. The only person he’d really ever felt affection for was Shiro, who was his brother. Other than that, he hadn’t even really had any friends before.

This was probably the reason it took him so long to figure out he had one. That, and Lance wasn’t single, which should have meant he was off the table. Apparently, Keith’s subconscious didn’t care about who was “single” or not.

The moment he realized his crush was probably the time Lance was away on some strange three-day-two-night theatre trip. When Hunk announced that Lance would be coming home that evening in a sing-song voice, Keith felt butterflies in his stomach, pleased at the idea that soon he would be able to see Lance’s stupid face again.

Even he knew what that meant.

 

***

 

When Hunk came home the afternoon of October twenty-first, just over two months since Keith had first moved in, he was more ecstatic than Keith had ever seen him. Which was saying quite a lot, because Hunk was almost always ecstatic. Of course, he wasn’t Lance’s level of almost aggressive enthusiasm, but Keith didn’t think he’d ever really seen him sad.

But today? Today, Hunk was on top of the world in a way that Keith hadn’t ever really thought could be possible, just for, like, humanity in general.

“Guys, guess whaaaat!” Hunk sang, kicking open the door to their apartment like he was auditioning for the role of Pacha in a live-action production of The Emperor's New Groove.

“Whaaaaat?” Lance sang back from where he was sitting on the (shitty, half falling apart) couch, trying to figure out how to get the TV to turn from Component 1 to regular old TV. Lance was always singing if he got the chance; sometimes, he wouldn’t talk once during the day, he would just sing. It drove Keith fucking crazy.

“Guess!” Hank sang, doing a cute little pirouette that Keith hadn’t thought was possible for a guy that big until now.

Lance looked up now, as if Hunk insisting that he actually guess something meant it was Serious. “Whoa, buddy, what is it? Did you get a raise?”

Hunk grinned. “Even betteeeer!”

Lance’s eyes widened dramatically and he lept off the couch, nearly shaking with excitement. Keith hated living with a theatre major; every little thing that happened had Lance “nearly shaking with excitement”. Keith couldn’t tell if it was real, or if Lance was just so Fucking Dramatic that he was always doing stupid shit like that.

“Better than a raise? Did your semester end early and you got an A?”

Hunk was also nearly trembling with excitement now, which Keith thought was Really A Bit Much, but who was he to judge? He just watched them as they met in the middle of the room, clasping hands like they were royalty from the Middle Ages.

“I asked that person Pidge from my Robotics Club out!” Hunk finally said. Lance screamed, which had Keith jumping in shock before he could really register what the noise was, or even what Hunk had said to cause it.

“BRO YOU DIDN’T!” hollered Lance loudly enough that the people who lived next door banged on the wall for them to shut up.

“BRO I DID!” Hunk yelled back just as loudly.

“SHUT UP!” yelled the people from next door, even louder than both Lance and Hunk.

Lance and Hunk finally quieted down, and Keith’s heart started jumping in his throat enough for him to finally register what Hunk had said.

He had asked someone out, and Lance was happy for him.

Hunk had asked someone out.

Lance was happy for him.

Hunk had asked another person on a date, and Lance was now celebrating this fact with Hunk in the middle of their living room.

Keith was sitting on the (shitty, half falling apart) couch, staring at the blue screen of the TV that Lance had not been able to switch from Component 1 back to regular TV, and his entire world was falling apart, because Hunk had asked out someone from his Robotics Club, and he and Lance were celebrating, which meant that Hunk and Lance weren’t dating.

 

***

 

Keith had been pretty sure that the only thing in the entire world worse than having a crush on your roommate was having a crush on your roommate who was, in turn, dating your other roommate.

Today, though, on October the twenty-first, Keith was proven wrong. The only thing worse than having a crush on your roommate was having a crush on your roommate who was not, in fact, dating your other roommate, but you thought that they were because they were incredibly touchy-feely with each other and cuddled all the time and Shared a Fucking Room, and now your world is falling apart because you could have been boning him the entire time.

Not that, like, Keith necessarily wanted to be boning Lance, per se, just that Lance was so incredibly annoying that he _desperately wanted to be boning him_ , because Lance drove him fucking wild in a way that had Keith’s blood boiling, like, constantly. It was sort of like, Keith was both disgusted with himself for wanting to bone Lance, and disgusted with Lance, but also desperately attracted to him in a way he hadn’t ever been with anyone else in the entire world, ever.

“So, when are you gonna invite this ‘Pidge’ over?” Lance asked Hunk teasingly, after they’d both settled down a bit. The smell of brewing coffee was slowly filling the apartment, because Hunk liked to drink it after he got home from school.

Hunk shrugged. “Probably after we go on a couple dates. Like, I love you? But you’re a menace. I want them to like me.”

Keith thought this was a very intelligent decision. Sure, he was like, borderline in love with Lance, but that didn’t mean he was in denial about how goddamn annoying he was. He just, apparently… liked it? To his eternal shame and embarrassment.

Lance wrinkled his nose at Hunk’s borderline rude words, then sighed. “Yeah, I suppose so. Not many people can handle us Theatre majors!” He then began once more to try to change the TV from Component 1 to regular TV. Keith watched him. He loved to watch Lance struggle with things that weren’t at all complicated.

Hunk coughed, then made eye contact with Keith from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, in a way that very clearly said, _How long have you been letting him try to do this without just doing it yourself?_

Keith shrugged. Hunk raised his eyebrows, which meant, _Maybe you should go ahead and offer?_ Keith shrugged again, but after a few more seconds of awkward eye contact, sighed and did what he was told.

“Hey, Lance,” he said. His voice came out kind of croaky, and he realized that he hadn’t actually spoken to Lance yet that day, even though they both got done with their classes around two hours ago. He coughed, then said it again louder. “Lance.”

Lance looked up from the remote inquisitively, then smiled when he saw that it was Keith who had spoken, as if he hadn’t realized that he was in the room. “Keith,” he said warmly.

Keith’s heart skipped a beat, but he firmly ignored it. “Do you want me to change the TV for you?”

Lance blinked, then looked down at the remote. “You know how?”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah, Lance. I’ve lived here a couple months now. I’ve, like, managed to figure it out.”

Lance pouted dramatically, but handed over the remote. “Why didn’t you help me an hour ago, then?”

Hunk snorted. “You’ve been sitting here for an hour and you haven’t figured it out yet? Jesus, Lance, what would _mamá_ think?”

Lance snorted, then went off on a rant in Spanish that had Hunk grinning. Keith had picked up a bit of Spanish in the months he’d spent living with the two of them, but he could still only catch a few words, such as _mom couldn’t_ and _asshole_. He could, however, put two and two together to tell that Lance was cussing Hunk out.

“What do you want to watch, anyway?” Keith asked, flipping through the channels of the newly shifted TV. Lance looked at him for a moment, as if he was confused, then shrugged.

“I don’t know. I thought you wanted to watch something, since you were just sitting in front of the TV doing nothing.”

Keith closed his eyes for a very long moment, then got up. “I’m going to my room.”

This is why he fucking hated Lance.


	2. Chapter Two My Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISED YALL SHENANIGANS
> 
> pidge will be here soon i promise and expect more shiro also

Keith and Lance had a daily fight, usually.

 

Well, it was more like they had  _ at least _ one daily fight, but sometimes they had more. Today, the morning of October the twenty-second, Keith woke up knowing that it would be a Multiple Fight sort of day. Something in his chest seemed to be vibrating, which was a bad sign even when he was living back in Virginia and didn’t have anyone to fight with. Waking up like this while living with Lance was like waking up with a bomb in your chest and then having to interact safely with Lance, who was a lighter that could flick itself on at any time.

 

Sometimes, on days like this, Keith wished that he had a way to warn Hunk, Like,  _ Hey Hunk, sorry to bother you this early but Lance and I are going to be literally, physically at each other’s throats for the rest of the day. Talk to you later, have fun at class. _

 

Today, Keith didn’t much feel like talking to Hunk at all. Not because of anything dumb like blaming Hunk for the fact that he hadn’t known they weren’t dating, but more because he felt like Hunk would somehow be able to  _ tell _ that Keith liked Lance, and that he now knew they weren’t dating. Not dating Hunk meant that Lance was single. And Keith, coincidentally, was also single. And so was Lance, as was Keith. Which meant that, really, if Keith could get up the courage, he could ask Lance out and they could be fuckng instead of fighting, which would be much more useful and much less aggravating.

 

In a word, Keith was nervous, and a nervous Keith was never a good thing.

 

“Hey,” Lance said with a yawn as Keith entered the kitchen. He was wearing a too-small pajama shirt and thin cotton pants, as he usually did when he slept. Normally, Keith found it annoying, but today Keith found that the image of Lance yawning and rubbing at his sleepy eyes with a fist was an absolute fucking abomination.

 

“Hey yourself, jackass,” Keith said, flustered at finding Lance cute. He shoved past Lance (angrily, without making eye contact) and grabbed some cereal out of the cupboard.

 

“What’s with the jackass, jackass?” said Lance, straightening up. He suddenly looked wide awake, and Keith narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“You’re the jackass, jackass. Maybe you should get some clothes that  _ fit. _ ” Keith reached around Lance for the fridge handle so that he could get out the milk, but Lance slammed the door shut when he opened it.

 

“Maybe  _ you _ should get some clothes that you didn’t steal from my goth sister’s closet,” Lance said. His eyes were all squinty and narrow too, because he was angry. The only thing Keith could see, however, was how long his eyelashes were. His  _ stupid eyelashes _ .

 

“You have stupid fucking eyelashes,” Keith said. For a moment there was a silence in which Lance looked confused and Keith felt like a fucking  _ idiot. _

 

“I have what?” Lance asked.

 

Keith didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and walked right back into his room, carrying the cereal box with him. Lance ran after him but was late enough that he was unable to stop Keith before he’d slammed the door shut and locked it.

 

“Hey! Asshole! I wanted to eat that too!” Lance banged on the door, so Keith stood right on the other side of it and shook the box around, then shoveled a handful of cereal into his mouth and made over-dramaticized chewing and swallowing noises.

 

“The only way you’re going to get this cereal back is if you break down the door and kill me,” Keith said calmly, which was strange considering he was currently acting like a goddamn child.

 

“Huuuuuunk,” Lance yelled very loudly. Keith could tell that he was standing right in front of his bedroom door, which was a clever ploy to annoy him. Lance wouldn’t move until Hunk came over, and he would keep yelling until that time, which he knew Keith hated. Pretty much every little thing they did on a day-to-day basis was meant to drive the other insane.

 

“Huuuuuuunk!” Lance yelled again, even louder this time. Keith did the only thing he could think of, even though it was completely irrational and stupid: he opened his bedroom door (smacking Lance pretty much right in the face with it as he did) and then let the box of cereal drop, top down, to the floor.

 

Hunk walked into the room just in time to see Cheerios scatter  _ everywhere _ .

 

The three of them surveyed the (scratched, wooden) floors for a long, long moment, and then Hunk said, “I’m going to school. When I get back, those had all better be cleaned up.”

 

Lance and Keith watched as Hunk gathered his backpack, poured himself a cup of coffee, then left the apartment, locking the door behind him. They then stared at the closed door for another couple minutes in complete silence.

 

“I’m sorry for calling you a jackass and then throwing our last box of cereal all over the floor,” Keith said, still looking at the door.

 

“Yeah,” Lance said, also not breaking eye contact with the door. “I forgive you, or whatever, and I’m sorry for just being a jackass in general. And, like, wearing too-small shirts, I guess.” He looked down at his shirt, tugging at the hem as if that would make it longer. “Do you think I should throw it away? Is it really that short?”

 

“Nah,” said Keith. The look on Lance’s face as he’d asked the question was strangely vulnerable, and Keith was struck with a pang of guilt and self-loathing. “I’m just picky. Dad never would have let me wear a shirt that short and faded.”

 

Not that Keith’s father was anything that even resembled a good role model.

 

“I guess we should clean up,” Lance said awkwardly. He still had a tight grip on the hem of his shirt, and Keith felt something in his stomach roil with guilt.

 

“I’ll do it, and I’ll buy some new cereal, too. I’m the one that wasted our last box.”

 

“Only ‘cause I’m annoying,” interjected Lance.

 

“No,” Keith said firmly. “Only because I’m a dick.”

 

Lance smiled at that. “Only a little.”

 

“Only a lot, but thanks. I’m just… in a bad mood today, I guess?” 

 

Keith wouldn’t say that, actually. If anything, he was in a rather good mood. Lance was single now. Or, he had been single, but Keith  _ knew _ he was now. So yeah, if anything he was happy, but he was also nervous, and being nervous always made him angry.

 

“Okay,” said Lance. “Feel better I guess, dude.” He turned around and made his way carefully across the room, trying to avoid stepping on any Cheerios (he failed). 

 

“Do you know where Hunk put the broom?” Keith asked, glancing around the room. “It’s not in its usual spot.” Its usual spot was leaning against the TV, because Hunk was kind of passive-aggressive when he wanted something to be cleaned.

 

“I think he put it against the fridge, this time,” Lance called from the kitchen. “Do you want some eggs? We have an hour before we need to go to class, so I should have time to make some breakfast.”

 

“Sure,” Keith said, trying to sound calm even though his heart was pounding. Usually in the mornings, no one made anyone breakfast and they just all kind of foraged around the kitchen for stuff to eat. The fact that Lance was actually cooking for him (even if it was because they were on Thin Ice) warmed him from the inside out.

  
  


***

  
  


They didn’t fight the entire way to school, which was pretty abnormal. It was a twenty minute car ride and he and Lance usually couldn’t be in the same place for that long without arguing at least a little bit. Today, they both barely spoke, and Keith put one of his old Fall Out Boy CD’s in the car’s stereo. Apparently FOB was the only band they had in common so Lance, for once, didn’t argue.

 

They fought at lunch, though.

 

“What do you think of Hunk dating?” Keith blurted as soon as Lance sat down across from him at their usual table in the cafeteria. Lance spared him a strange look, then began opening the packaging on his complimentary plastic utensils.

 

“I don’t know,” he said, bunching the plastic into a ball. “He’s dated before. I’d like to meet the person sometime, I guess.”

 

“Ah,” Keith said. “Cool, cool. Every time my brother dates anyone there’s, like, an interrogation.”

 

“What about you?” Lance asked, spearing a chicken nugget (he refused to ever eat anything with his hands) on the prongs of his (black, plastic) fork. “They didn’t care who you dated?”

 

“I’ve never dated anyone,” Keith said before he could really think about it. 

 

Lance looked up, shocked. “Really? Not even, like, in grade school?”

 

Keith made a face. “ _ Definitely _ not in grade school.” In grade school, his mother had just recently died, so Keith hadn’t felt like doing much other than crying and sleeping. “I didn’t ever get around to dating in high school because of my dad. He’s kind of, um… old-fashioned?”

 

“Oh,” Lance said. “Like, no dating before marriage?”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Lance, how are you supposed to date anyone after marriage? How are you supposed to marry anyone?”

 

Lance frowned, then shrugged. “Um, I don’t know. I think I meant sex before marriage, maybe. Or like, no dating unless it’s, like… courting?”

 

Keith squinted at Lance for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. Lance squirmed, then said, “Let’s talk about something else.”

 

“Something else” namely referred to Nicholas Cage. Lance hated him, but Keith liked  _ National Treasure. _ Keith hadn’t seen any of his other movies, but Lance had, and Lance said they were all awful and that Keith had terrible taste. They’d had this argument often, and it generally resulted in very personal insults about each other being flung around, as well as occasional aggressive arm-wrestling. This time, it resulted in Keith grabbing the balled up plastic from Lance’s complimentary utensils and shoving it into his coffee. He only understood the true gravity of the situation when Lance stood up from the table, face stony. He had forgotten that taking a five dollar coffee away from a college student was one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

 

“Have fun getting back home by yourself,” said Lance. He picked up his tray of food and walked away, leaving Keith with the coffee cup and his own lunch tray.

 

This whole, like, flirting thing? Wasn’t going very well.

  
  


***

  
  


In an effort to flirt or whatever, Keith decided he would do something nice for Lance.

 

“Here’s how to use the TV remote.”

 

“I know how to use the TV remote, stupid,” Lance said. Keith was pretty sure he was still upset about the whole coffee thing, but he decided to move past it in an effort to kindle some sort of friendship. Can’t have dating without being friends, right? 

 

“You can’t ever change it from Console 1, dude. Don’t pretend you can, because I have to help you with it all the time.”

 

Lance pouted. “Fine, teach me how, or whatever. I won’t learn though!”

 

Keith sighed. 

  
  


***

  
  
  


“Lance, can you help me with my homework?”

 

Normally Keith didn’t ask for help with his homework, because he was taking mostly art classes and had found out, while taking them, that art was supposed to be extremely personal. He therefore didn’t want anyone seeing his art, ever.

 

This homework was for the English class he had to take to get through his general studies. He hadn’t ever been very good at English as a subject. He could speak it just fine, but writing it didn’t come easy to him. He preferred Vietnamese.

 

Lance was good at English though. Besides the fact that he was a theatre major and all of them seemed to want to fuck the entirety of the English language, he was also taking a couple of creative writing and other miscellaneous English classes, so Keith figured asking him for help would be a good idea.

 

“Sure, what do you need?” Lance asked from where he was sitting on the (shitty, falling apart) couch. He didn’t make any move to get up which annoyed Keith, though he did his best to ignore it.

 

“My English teacher gave me a weird prompt for some story we’re supposed to write, I think.”

 

Instantly Lance sat up, a sparkle in his eye. He set the book he was reading (some sort of Shakespeare play, Keith thought) on the floor and stood up to join Keith where he was sitting at the kitchen table.

 

“What’s the prompt?”

 

Whenever Lance sat next to him it seemed like he was taking up a lot of space. He always seemed to be too close; either his arm was brushing Keith’s, or he would lean in too near and his hair would tickle Keith’s skin, or he would put his foot on the rungs of Keith’s chair and he’d have to pretend he wasn’t dying at the almost-contact between his and Lance’s legs.

 

“Um,” said Keith. “Um, here.” He passed Lance the page with the prompt written on it, trying to remember how to breathe. He was already beginning to feel all hot like he usually felt when he was nervous.

 

“Hmm,” said Lance. “Okay, this is kind of weird, I guess.” His arm was brushing against Keith’s, and it was all he could do not to yank himself away.

 

“Yeah,” Keith said, swallowing hard. “Um, really weird.”

 

“What have you got so far?” Lance leaned over to look into Keith’s spiral bound notebook, where he had tried to write something based off the prompt. In the process, he stuck his hair pretty much right in Keith’s face, resulting in Keith getting a big whiff of his coconut conditioner.

 

Keith squeaked. “I need some water!”

 

Lance didn’t spare him a glance as he got up, busy puzzling over the weird English prompt Keith had gotten. Keith grabbed a cup from the drying rack and filled it up with water three times, but when he finally sat back down he was still thirsty.

 

“I’m confused about what they mean when they say they want you to compare Shakespeare’s  _ Hamlet _ with  _ The Great Gatsby _ . I mean, I guess the love interest dies, since Ophelia dies in  _ Hamlet _ and Gatsby dies too, and he’s obviously Nick’s love interest...”

 

“Yeah definitely,” said Keith, even though he was barely listening. Lance had decided to scoot his chair even closer to Keith when he sat back down, and was pointing at the prompt as if he expected Keith to be paying attention when  _ their arms were touching. _ Keith wondered if it would be too weird to excuse himself for another glass of water.

 

“I don’t know, what do you think the connection between these two is?”

 

Suddenly Lance was looking at him; Keith could already feel himself starting to sweat. “Um. Um. I? Didn’t read either of them.”

 

Lance looked at him for a moment, then snorted a laugh. “So by ‘help me with my homework’ you meant, like, do it for you?”

 

Keith hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess.”

 

Lance grinned. “Alright, but next time I need some math help you better not complain.”

 

Keith’s insides squirmed in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Okay.”

 

Maybe this had been a success, in the flirting front.

  
  


***

  
  
  


The next day was October the twenty-fifth, and Lance had somehow only just realized that Halloween was coming up. In true theatre kid style, he was freaking out.

 

“Hunk, what should I weaaar?” he sang frantically. Keith wished he wouldn’t sing all the time, especially when he was anxious. His singing was normally pretty, but when he was anxious it turned all shrieky, like a witch’s singing.

 

“Wear your costume from last year,” Hunk said, looking nonplussed. He was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping chocolate milk out of a plastic cup with a curly straw while reading some sort of engineering textbook that was too complicated for Keith to even remember the name of.

 

“Hunk, if I wear the same costume as last year, I will be the shame of the theatre Halloween party,” Lance said as he stuck his head out his bedroom doorway. It was sunny outside today, though still very cold. The sun lit up Lance’s hair, making it look especially soft. Keith had been thinking about running his fingers through it all day (midterms were coming up, and he would do almost anything to distract himself from his current art homework). (Or, that’s the excuse he told himself when he realized he had been staring at Lance for ten minutes, earlier that afternoon.)

 

“Why will you be the shame of the Halloween party? It wasn’t that ugly.”

 

Lance’s face was horrified. “Hunk! It wasn’t ugly at all, and I can’t wear the same thing two years in a row without looking like a fool!”

 

“Lance, no offense, but you dressed as a gay mime last year. It was kind of ugly.” Hunk didn’t look up from his textbook as he spoke, which took dedication and also guts, when one was dealing with a frantically singing Lance (or just Lance in general to be honest).

 

“What the fuck does a gay mime look like?” Keith asked, forcing himself to look away from Lance’s hair.

 

“Instead of being black and white, everything was rainbow,” Hunk said, still without looking up from his textbook.

 

“It was pretty fucking awesome,” Lance said, ignoring Hunk. “I would do it again if I thought I wouldn’t be made a laughingstock.”

 

Keith thought that the only thing making Lance a laughingstock was his current attitude, as well as his somehow firm belief that theatre kids were cool.

 

“Hunk, will you come with me to the thrift store so that I can try and  _ cobble _ something together that might be worthy of the party?”

 

“Lance, I’m busy studying, as I have been all afternoon.” Hunk took another sip of his chocolate milk through his crazy straw. “Maybe Keith can go with you?”

 

Keith started at his name, then registered what Hunk had said. He looked at Hunk; Hunk looked back. There was something knowing in his expression that made Keith feel see-through, and he was so distracted by it that he didn’t have time to make up an excuse for why he couldn’t help Lance look for a costume.

 

“Keeeeeith,” Lance sang prettily, doing a fancy little pirouette across the room. “Would you really help me look for a costume?”

 

“I-” Keith began.   
  


“Yes,” Hunk said before Keith could get a word in edgewise. “Keith would love to help you! In fact, you should look for a costume for him as well, and then bring him as your date!”

 

Lance’s eyes shone. “Oh my god yeah, and then you can join the theatre club and audition for the play and we can all be besties!”

 

Keith couldn’t hide his look of terror, but Lance didn’t seem to notice it. He grabbed one of Keith’s hands in both of his like he was reenacting some dramatic fifteenth century love scene. “Keith, would you go to the Halloween party with me?”

 

Keith looked up at Lance from where he was sitting on the (shitty, falling-apart) couch. Lance eyes were very blue today, and his hands were dry and warm. 

 

“Sure,” he said. Instantly, he knew he’d regret it.

  
  


***

  
  


Shiro texted him on the way to the store. Lance was driving, since it was his shitty Corolla they were taking. He kept banging on the front of the car as if that would make the heat work. (It didn’t, and the occasional smacking sound only served to make Keith nervous.)

 

_ hey keith, im at a bigger base than i was b4 and i have signal, hows seattle? _

 

_ good,  _ Keith typed back.  _ it rains a lot here. im on my way to a thrift store to get my dumb roommate a halloween costume _

 

_ the same thrift store that macklemore was born in? _

 

Keith snorted. 

 

“What?” asked Lance. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing,” said Keith. “I’m just texting my brother. I told him we were going thrift shopping and he said something funny.”

 

“Oh,” Lance said. “Cool. How many brothers do you have?”

 

“Just the one,” Keith said. His phone buzzed with another text from Shiro, but he ignored it to glance at Lance. “And you?”

 

“Two,” Lance said. “But I have six sisters.”

 

Keith huffed a surprised breath. “There’s  _ nine _ of you?”

 

Lance laughed. “That’s most people’s first reaction too, believe me. Me and Guinevere and Morgana are the eldest, but they’re both like seven years older than me, then there’s Percival and Gawain, who are like seven years younger than me. After that,  _ mamá _ ran out of good Knights of the Round Table names so then we have Elena, Joan, Mari, and Maya. ”

 

“Oh my god,” said Keith. “Are you trying to tell me right now that your full name is Lancelot?”

 

Lance turned to him and winked, then turned back to look at the road before he killed them both. “I can be your knight in shining armor, buddy.”

 

Keith flushed even though the “buddy” at the end made that the literal least-romantic phrase of all time. 

 

“Yeah, I just have one brother,” he said, even though he felt kind of dumb saying it after all that. “His name is Takashi Shirogane, but a friend gave him the nickname Shiro because he fell on his head when he was little and then some of his hair grew in white because of a scar, and  _ shiro _ is Japanese for ‘white’.”

 

“Oh, are you Japanese then?”

 

“I’m half Japanese and half Vietnamese, but Shiro’s all Japanese. We’re half brothers.”

 

“Oh,” said Lance. “Cool. Cool.”

 

“Yeah,” said Keith. Silence encroached on them then, making him nervous. “Um, the funny thing Shiro said was that are we going to the same thrift store Macklemore was born in?”

 

Lance was silent for a moment, then let out a big bellow of laughter. “Oh my god. No, but we can if you want to?” He glanced at Keith again, and just like earlier, in the apartment, his eyes appeared more blue than normal.

 

“Sure,” Keith said, without thinking. “Let’s go.”

  
  


***

  
  


The first thing Keith noticed about the thrift store was that it was probably one of the dirtiest places he had ever inhabited before. He felt like he was getting sick just breathing the air in it, and wondered if there was some new sort of plague forming inside the building.

 

“It’s rank in here,” said Lance from his side. His nose was all wrinkled up like he would be able to smell less if it was. Keith was breathing only through his mouth.

 

“It’s disgusting,” agreed Keith. “I’m almost thinking we shouldn’t have come.”

 

“We would miss such a good photo op though,” said Lance, even though he sounded like he wanted to leave just as much as Keith did.

 

“I don’t know enough about it to be sure, but I feel like just being in here is giving me herpes,” Keith said. An elderly woman from across the aisle glared at him, apparently having heard his words, and Keith moved a little bit closer to Lance.

 

“Let’s stop talking about it and just find something I can wear to the Halloween party.”

 

“You really want to  _ wear _ something from here?” Keith asked, shuddering just slightly in disgust. “You might get fleas.”

 

Lance set his jaw in the stubborn way that Keith was oh-so familiar with, the way that said  _ eat this green tea ice cream or God help me _ . “I came here to get a Halloween costume and that is what I’m going to do.”

 

_ Famous last words _ , Keith thought.

  
  


***

  
  


Keith and Lance arrived at the apartment over three hours later, both cranky and worn thin from the search. 

 

“What’d you come up with?” Hunk asked as they walked in the door. He was still sitting in the same place he had been when they left, but his chocolate milk cup was empty now, and he was further into the textbook.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lance grunted. He was carrying a very large opaque plastic bag with the handles tied up at the top so that no one could see in. “I’m going to my room.”

 

Hunk and Keith watched him go, both of them figuring that it would be better to not point out that Lance shared his room with Hunk.

 

“What’d you do to him?” Hunk asked the moment the door shut behind last and his ominous plastic bag. He had a very knowing look in his eyes that was familiar to the one he’d had before they left, and just like last time it made Keith uncomfortable.

 

Not uncomfortable enough to not get angry, though.

 

“I didn’t do anything! I don’t know why everyone always assumes I  _ did _ something, maybe Lance pissed himself off all on his own!”

 

“What kind of costume did you tell him to get?”

 

“Um,” Keith said. “I don’t… feel like it’s my place to say. It’s kind of personal.”

 

Hunk looked confused. “What, is he being like, a stripper? A dick model? I can’t think of any other costume that’s, like, personal.”

 

“I told him to dress up as his greatest fear, since it’s Halloween and it’s supposed to be scary and all,” Keith began. Hunk’s eyes widened in horrified understand, but Keith continued on; now that he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “He told me his greatest fear and then we just, like, happened upon a literal costume of it, a  _ literal premade costume _ , and not only did it cost far more than it was worth it smelled vaguely like cat piss, but Lance had already promised that he would wear it-”

 

“-and Lance never breaks a promise,” Hunk finished, nodding. 

 

“So, yeah,” said Keith.

 

“Yeah,” said Hunk.

 

“He’s dressing as his greatest fear,” said Keith.

 

“Yep,” agreed Hunk. “He’s going to the Halloween party as a chicken.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter!!! Kudos and comments are so appreciated! I'm so incredibly amazed at how nice the reception to this fic was, I didn't expect as many comments as I got!! Thank u all so much!!
> 
> Also lmao, if anyone is looking to scan the chapters of this before I post them (for typos and shit that doesn't make sense) that would be cool as hell bc ive got school and wrk n other stuff
> 
> as always, suggestions are welcome and (probably) likely to be fulfilled!
> 
> (tumblr: @dcrao)


	3. Chapter Three My Dudes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the halloween party is here and keith is Not Excited

What was even worse about the whole chicken situation was the fact that Lance had once against stubbornly insisted that Keith absolutely  _ had _ to come with him to the party, and if they were going together they of course had to have matching costumes. After all, this was a  _ theatre _ party, and one did not simply bring a guest and not dress in the same  _ theme _ .

 

Therefore, Keith was going to the annual theatre Halloween party as a farmer.

 

Specifically, Old MacDonald.

 

“You need to spray paint your hair white,” Lance demanded, shoving Keith toward the bathroom. Keith, however, stood his ground.

 

“The only way my hair will be white is when you kill me and spray my corpse’s hair white,” he said. Hunk rolled his eyes.

 

“You always say that,” Lance said. “You always say you’ll have to die to do it, and usually you do it without dying!”

 

“Lance, I have never once done the stupid shit you’ve asked me to do. Remember green tea ice cream? I didn’t fucking try that shit and thanks to you I never will.”

 

Lance scowled. “Fuck you.”

 

“Fuck you!” Keith said, scowling back.

 

“Boys, boys,” said Pidge, coming up between them and waving her hands in a shooing motion toward each of them. “I think we can come to some sort of compromise, can we not?”

 

Keith scowled harder. Even though he had only met Pidge for the first time the day before, he didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, which was probably pretty far considering she was so fucking tiny.

 

“Fine,” said Lance. “What sort of compromise?”

 

“Guys,” said Hunk. “I really don’t think-”

 

“Keith won’t spray paint his hair gray but he  _ will _ wear the flannel,” Pidge said, interrupting Hunk as smoothly as if she had a masters in interruptions.

 

“I don’t want to wear the flannel!” Keith said. He was starting to get pissed now; that flannel  _ did not _ look good on him.

 

“Then dye your fucking hair!” Lance yelled, hands balling into fists at his side. “Old MacDonald is  _ old _ , Keith!”

 

“You’re old!” Keith said. And then, “Fuck you!”

 

“Keith,” Pidge barked, standing up on her tiptoes so that she could stare directly into his eyes. “Pick: flannel or spray paint.”

 

“Neither!” Keith insisted. He felt like stomping his foot and crying like he had when he was a child and had gotten himself into some impossible argument with Shiro. “I don’t even want to go!”

 

“You’re going!” yelled Lance. “You’re going and you’re gonna be Old MacDonald because I have to be a  _ stupid chicken. _ ” He was beginning to tear up a little, which made Keith more annoyed than anything else because Lance was  _ so freaking overdramatic _ .

 

“Whoa, guys, we don’t need to be crying—” said Hunk, trying to pull the three of them apart. It didn’t work; Pidge wouldn’t budge an inch.

 

“Why can’t Hunk go!” Keith shouted. “He's your friend too!”

 

Hunk paled a little. “Um, that's okay actually, I don't really want to, I went last year so….”

 

“Keith, what will you wear instead of a flannel or spray paint?” Pidge asked, ignoring her boyfriend like he hadn't even spoken.

 

“Nothing!” Keith insisted. Lance opened his mouth to butt in but Pidge elbowed him so hard he coughed and couldn’t speak.

 

(Pidge was a fucking menace.)

 

“What about the coveralls?” asked Pidge. “Instead of flannel and spray paint, will you wear the coveralls?”

 

“Those smell like shit!” Keith exclaimed. “I might as well just rub myself in shit and go to the party!”

 

Pidge considered this for a moment. “Would you be willing to?”

 

“Oh my god!” gasped Lance. “I’m not going to the party with someone who’s covered in shit!”

 

“Gross!” yelled Keith.

 

“Guys—” started Hunk, trying once again to butt in.

 

“The flannel doesn’t smell like shit,” Pidge said, verbally shoving Hunk out of the limelight like he hadn't ever been there.

 

“The spray paint does, though,” Keith countered. Although, she did have a point: the flannel actually belonged to Lance and smelled like laundry detergent, because Lance was kind of a clean freak (but only when it came to his stuff). It was also very soft and warm. (Keith had tried it on earlier that night but had been firmly against wearing it because it smelled  _ a lot _ like Lance, as well as laundry detergent, which made him feel a weird mix of butterflies-in-tummy and queasy. This seemed a bad mix at a party that served alcohol.)

 

“So don’t wear the spray paint or the coveralls, just wear the jeans and the flannel.”

 

Keith hesitated. He  _ really didn’t _ want to wear the flannel, but it also smelled  _ way _ better than the coveralls....

 

“Plus,” Pidge added, somehow sensing that she had a leg up on Keith. “Lance will let you wear his special white cowboy boots.”

 

“Wha—!” Lance began, looking utterly outraged. Another quick elbow to the ribs shut him up quick (and also knocked him partway to the floor, although that was probably fake).

 

“You know you want to wear the cowboy boots,” Pidge cajoled, smiling in a way that Keith did not appreciate. “They’ve got the gay little stars on the sides…”

 

Keit scuffed his foot against the floor. He  _ did _ want to wear the cowboy boots… Pidge was right, the gay little stars on the sides were cute… And they would kind of go well with the red, white, and black flannel, wouldn’t they…? All he’d need was a cowboy hat and—

 

“ _ Plus _ ,” Pidge said once more, a terrifying gleam in her eye. “Lance has a matching cowboy hat.”

 

“ _ No! _ ” screamed Lance from the floor. He tried to claw himself into a sitting position but Hunk, who had kneeled down next to him to make sure he was okay (and probably to check for internal bleeding from Pidge’s bony-ass elbows), pushed him back down.

 

“Fine,” Keith said. “I’ll wear the flannel and the boots and the hat.”

 

“And Lance will be a chicken,” Pidge said smugly.

 

Lance screamed from where he was sprawled out on the floor, and Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been  _ majorly _ played.

  
  


***

  
  


The party was being held at the home of one of the acting majors, and Keith didn’t know what to expect.

 

He had, of course, been to parties before, but never as  _ Lance’s weird roommate.  _ Usually when he was invited to parties back in high school it was more like  _ there’s that guy who doesn’t talk but wins us all our soccer matches man he’s so cool I wish he would look at me. _

 

Not that Keith missed that strange sort of anonymous idolization but, well. It was familiar, and being someone’s tag-along, out-of-place friend wasn’t.

 

They weren’t taking Lance’s Corolla to the party, because Lance had said that he “wanted to get absolutely shitfaced and Keith can’t drive”. Keith didn’t have much of a problem with that, but it did mean that he couldn’t really bring anything to the party that didn’t fit into the pocket of his jeans, which made him nervous. He knew in his normal brain that he likely wouldn’t  _ use _ a sketchbook at a party, but his anxiety brain screamed “Sketchbook! Sketchbook!” It was all he could do not to listen.

 

“When’s the Uber gonna be here?” Lance huffed, doing his best to cross his arms in his disgusting—and disgustingly large—costume. The suit was some sort of cross between a fursuit and a onesie, retaining the worst features of both, including an oversized chicken-head hood that revealed Lance’s face inside the bird’s mouth, stiff limbs that made it hard for Lance to walk, and a button-up butt flap. The only thing about it that Lance seemed to like was that there were holes under the wings where Lance could stick his arms. It made him look like he had four really weird arms.

 

“All the better to drink with, my dear,” Lance had crowed (pun unintended) earlier, waggling his fingers and chicken wing-clad hands in Keith’s face. He had, of course, managed to hit Keith in the face with one of the wings, which was great because Keith seemed to be allergic to whatever was used to make the costume and had had a sneezing fit.

 

“Soon, probably,” Keith answered, trying to sound bored even though he was nervously sweating underneath Lance’s flannel and cowboy attire. “The longer we’re out here the more time your chicken suit has to air out, and then maybe I won’t be sneezing the entire party.”

 

“But Keith,” Lance drawled, leaning against a nearby lamp post. “You wouldn’t be able to pull of Old MacDonald half as well without that  _ sexy _ nasally voice.”

 

Keith opened his mouth to make a snappy comeback but sneezed instead and ended up spitting all over Lance, who just sighed.

 

“I guess I deserved that,” Lance said.

 

Keith sneezed again, then nodded. He heard the sound of a car pulling up and turned around to look but sneezed three times in quick succession, lost his balance  _ and _ twisted his ankle, then tipped into Lance and his stupid chicken suit. His eyes watered, both from the twisted ankle and the  _ fucking chicken suit that he was allergic to. _

 

Lance sighed again, then grabbed Keith around the waist with his chicken-wing hands and set him upright again. “The Uber’s here,” he said, even though they both already knew.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Keith. He sniffed. “Do you have a tissue?”

 

“Yeah,” said Lance. He reached into the pocket of his chicken suit and pulled out a sealed packet of tissues, handing it to Keith instead of opening it up so that he wouldn’t infect it with his chicken germs.

 

Keith blew his nose. “Thanks,” he said, sounding like a three-year-old with a cold.

 

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s go.”

 

The ride to the party was probably one of the worst of Keith’s life, mainly because he could not fucking stop sneezing, even though he wasn’t even sitting next to Lance (he had sat up in the front next to the driver, and they were chatting). Also, he couldn’t even blow his nose every time he sneezed because he knew he had to ration the tissues, since they had only (stupidly) brought the one package, so he pretty much sat in the back of the car using a tissue already soaking with snot to wipe up his runny nose.

 

It was raining a little bit, so he tried to focus on the way the drops trickled into each other and then floated down the window, but every once in awhile the driver would say something and Lance would laugh and every time it made Keith’s stomach flutter, and then he ended up sneezing because he was apparently allergic to feelings as well as feathers. Even though Lance was wearing that stupid wannabe Big Bird costume he was still wildly attractive in Keith’s eyes. It was kind of the worst. Well no, it wasn’t, because the worst would be if Shiro was here to make fun of him for it. So it was, like, the second worst.

 

The party was being thrown by some guy who’s name was William something, but everyone just called him Shakespeare because, well. They were theatre kids and that’s what they did. Lance said that a lot of the other people had theatre nicknames too, but Keith had stopped him from talking before he could say anything more. Keith knew that technically there was nothing wrong with theatre kids, but, well… They were so weird? Why would they call that kid Shakespeare, and why did he let them?

 

Shakespeare had a house, somehow. Maybe his parents had bought it for him or something, because Keith felt that no acting major could just. Afford his own house. While going to college. Keith’s mother had barely been able to afford a house with a full-time job, and this dude was going to school full time, so how could he?

 

The house was pretty nice, and pretty big, for a house that belonged to a college student. He had a couple roommates that didn’t seem to be in attendance, but each of their bedroom doors had papers tacked to the front that said “Don’t fuck in here”. 

 

“Aw, shucks,” Lance said when he saw one of the signs, snapping his fingers in front of him like  _ he _ was the one dressed as the farmer. “I was thinking of fucking in some random guy’s bedroom tonight and now my plans are ruined!”

 

“Yeah,” Keith said nasally, sniffling a little. “I really wanted to get it on with a theatre major tonight. Guess it’s better that I can’t, because ya’ll are probably as loud in bed as ya’ll are out of it.”

 

Lance threw him a dirty look, then said, “Ya’ll keep your damn mouth shut,” which didn’t really make any sense and was probably the wrong way to use the word “ya’ll”, but Keith let it slide.

 

“Anyway, let’s find Shakespeare so we can get some drinks.” Lance looked around, then grabbed the arm of some girl and asked if she’d seen Shakespeare anywhere. She pointed off down the hallway a bit and Lance took off while Keith was mid-sneeze, leaving him to push past the girl while trying to simultaneously blow his nose and say excuse me. 

 

“SCUZI,” he ended up yelling, and she gave him a weird look that had his face heating up as fast as an oven did when you put it on broil. He scurried away, glad to have the tissue covering most of his face. Maybe she wouldn’t remember what he looked like when she was recounting the story on social media later that night.

 

The hallway opened up into a fancy little kitchen with an island in the middle. It all looked too quality to belong to a group of college kids, what with the stainless steel appliances and the granite countertops. The floors were polished hardwood, and on the island there were two kegs and a very large and probably very spiked punch bowl.

 

Lance was off on the other side of the island talking to a very short guy with dark skin and bleached hair who must have been Shakespeare. Keith scurried around the island, muttering “excuse me”s and “sorry”s as he went, until he was standing to Lance’s left. He could only barely resist the urge to grab ahold of his sleeve like some little kid. There were too many unfamiliar people here and Keith didn’t like it. Back when he had been in high school there had been kids that weren’t quite his friends, but they were people he hung around with. Mainly they were the ones who did drugs in the bathrooms and under the bleachers by the football field. At parties he would sit with them, which was usually outside, and listen to them talk about bands while they passed around a joint.

 

There were people smoking weed at this party, too, but it was different here than in Virginia, because weed was actually legal. Also, there were a ton of kids vaping too, so the whole place smelled like alcohol, weed, and root beer, and everyone was talking and laughing really loud. Back down the hallway from where they had come was a little living room with a TV (which was off) and some furniture (which was nice, but pushed against the walls) and people were playing some sort of “improv game” which seemed to entail a lot of screaming weird shit and doing weird stuff in the middle of a circle. Keith was hoping that Lance wouldn’t try to join in at any point during the night.

 

A hand landed on Keith’s shoulder all of a sudden and he jumped, then gasped, then coughed because he was so congested, and then sneezed about three times.

 

“This is my friend Keith,” Lance said, patting Keith’s shoulder again. “He’s allergic to my bird costume so he’s not having the best night. Keith wants to get drunk as soon as possible.”

 

Keith shook his head, but Shakespeare nodded, shooting Keith a smile. “I got what you need, my man.”

 

“Lance, I don’t—” Keith began, but Lance tightened his grip on his shoulder.

 

“Keith, if you don’t want your drink I’ll have it and then I’ll get drunk so fast I won’t even be able to remember I’m wearing the damn chicken costume,” he said, cutting Keith off mid-sentence. Keith looked over at him and saw the pain-filled fake smile that he had plastered onto his face, then sighed.

 

“Fine, as long you know that you’re going to be feeling it tomorrow morning and that Hunk’s not going to fucking care.”

 

“I know that, Keith, I’ve been drunk before,” Lance said, and then: “Shakespeare! Those drinks for us?”

 

“Sure are,” Shakespeare said with a wink, handing over two plastic water bottles (the labels said “Dasani” but he didn't believe that) filled with some sort of dark liquid that Keith was afraid to ask about. “Now, don’t try and drink this all at once, because we don’t want to have anyone leave this party by ambulance instead of taxi!”

 

Keith smiled, then sneezed and ended up spitting on the floor. Lance patted him on the back, then took both of the water bottles from Shakespeare. “Thanks man. I think we could both use a drink, right Keith?”

 

Keith nodded, then blew his nose. Shakespeare nodded at him again, wearing the look of someone who is clearly terribly sorry for another person but doesn’t want to say anything because they don’t really know each other and that would make the situation even more awkward. Keith smiled back, wearing the complementary look to Shakespeare’s, the one that said that he appreciated the fact that Shakespeare was sorry for him but that he still didn’t want it brought up because it would make the situation even more awkward and he’d rather just suffer through his allergies in silence, with everyone around him ignoring him.

 

“Well, this was fun,” Lance said after they had all been standing there staring at each other for a while. “Keith and I are going to go get absolutely smashed right now, and Keith’s probably going to throw up on this chicken costume because of alcohol and allergies, and then I’ll have a good excuse to throw it away, so excuse us and have a nice night.” 

 

He grabbed Keith’s arm just underneath his elbow (which, in Keith’s allergy-addled brain, was  _ practically  _ holding hands) and pulled him away.

 

“See you,” Shakespeare shouted after them. “Oh also, the kids who just wanna get fucking smashed and pass out are all in the basement. Head to the living room and open the door opposite it and you’ll be there. Last I checked they were watching Winnie-the-Pooh in Spanish and seeing who could chug the most wine in a minute.”

 

“Awesome,” Lance shouted back, lifting the two water bottles full of booze up in the air like a signal of some sort. “If you need us we’ll be down there and I’ll be trying to unhinge my jaw so that I can win.”

 

Keith sneezed.

  
  


***

  
  


Three hours later Keith, Lance, and the other Basement Kids (whose names Keith didn’t know and didn’t want to find out) were playing Truth or Dare.

 

Keith wasn’t sure who had brought the idea up, as it seemed like something that Lance would do but he couldn’t remember Lance saying anything about it except “Oh  _ fuck _ no” very quietly into his mostly-empty bottle of Mixed Drink.

 

The Mixed Drink, also, was fucking  _ potent as hell _ . It tasted like a dangerous mix of cough syrup and coke, but seemed to be neither, or possibly both mixed with something else, like maybe vodka and Starbucks caramel syrup. It went down easy as  _ hell _ while also clearing out his sinuses to the point where he was a little scared, and got him drunk faster than anything else he’d ever had in his entire life. He no longer wondered why Shakespeare was only giving everyone one, because he could barely drink half without passing out. In fact, the only reason he was still drinking was the way that Lance would eye his bottle every once in awhile, as if he was going to take it and chug it when Keith finally lost consciousness.

 

“Lance, Truth or dare,” said one of the girls in the circle. She had short, dark purple hair, very heavy eyeliner and scene-kid bangs, but was the most smiley person in the group.

 

“Truth,” said Lance as he had every round so far. Keith was mildly disappointed, as he had pegged Lance as someone who would say “dare” no matter what the consequences. Apparently he wasn’t; or at least, wasn’t tonight.

 

“Have you slept with any of your classmates yet?” she asked, grinning as if she thought Lance had something good to say. Keith knew for an absolute certainty that Lance hadn’t had sex with anyone, unless he and Hunk really  _ were _ doing the dirty on the d-low, because Lance had been home every night that Keith was (which was all of the nights since he had moved in, except for one when he had gotten lost on his way back from the grocery story and had hid in a Target dressing room until Hunk and Lance could find him and pick him up, which took until four a.m. because apparently Keith was Truly Awful with directions).

 

“One time I took a nap at the same table in the library as a kid from my geometry class,” Lance said. There was a silence then, as if he was going to say something more, but he didn’t.

 

“That’s really it?” the girl asked, sounding doubtful. “Last year you—”

 

“Last year,” Lance said loudly, cutting her off before she could illustrate how much of a slut Lance had been the year before, “I had just moved out and finally had my own room so I wanted to make the most of it while I could, which turned out to be a good idea because now I’m sharing with Hunk and Keith has the small room.”

 

“Let me pick a different question then,” she said. “That one was boring and disappointing. Any objections?”

 

No one said anything, except for Lance (who just muttered something under his breath and then sighed).

 

“Good,” she said. “Alright Lance, why are you wearing the chicken costume?”

 

Lance closed his eyes briefly, as if he was asking some higher power for help, then said, “Keith said that I should dress as my worst fear and so I did.”

 

There was silence then, for a moment. Keith looked around the circle; everyone was looking at Lance as if he had suddenly, well. Said that he had a fear of chickens.

 

“What the fuck,” a guy across from Keith finally said. “Why the hell are you afraid of chickens?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith piped up. “You never told me. I think we all deserve to know.”

 

Lance turned to Keith and glared at him, then made a cutting motion across his throat. He turned back to the circle when Keith flipped him off. “Okay, I’m scared of chickens because my family owns like, a ton of chickens and when I was really little we had this super mean rooster and one time I was chasing the chickens around and the rooster attacked me and totally scratched me up really bad. I actually still have scars on my back from the talons. Chickens are scary! And they’re not the sort of thing that should be messed around with! I was bleeding so much  _ mamá _ had to take me to the hospital!”

 

There was another bout of tense silence, which was broken once again by the same girl.

 

“Keith,” she said, apparently deciding that Lance was lame and she deserved  _ another _ turn. “Truth or dare?”

 

“Dare,” Keith said, because he always said dare. It was only when there was another moment of silence (well, not silence; Winnie-the-Pooh was still playing in the background) that he realized he was the first person all game not to say truth.

 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, wait, no, I change—”

 

“Too late!” she sang, bouncing to her feet and doing a little jig that proved she was a theatre kid and not a tagalong like he was. “I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room!”

 

Keith looked around the group for a moment, then looked back at her. “Do you mean like, objectively, or like I should kiss which one of you I find the least annoying?”

 

Her jaw dropped and Lance burst out laughing. “Oh my god, he totally fucking  _ destroyed _ you Kimberly—”

 

“Hush!” she said, sounding even more determined now that Keith had finally showed his true colors. “Pick someone, Keith! The hottest, or the least annoying, or whatever!”

 

Keith looked around the circle again, feeling a trickle of sweat crawl down his back. He couldn’t decide who the least annoying person was, since everyone was just as loud and obnoxious as Lance, and he obviously couldn’t choose  _ Lance _ because he was annoying. And also because Keith was afraid that if he kissed him now he wouldn’t be able to stop.

 

After another minute had passed, Lance spoke up, apparently trying to save Keith from himself. “I’m the least annoying probably, yeah? Since you’re used to me and all, and then you don’t have to kiss anyone you don’t know.”

 

Keith turned baleful eyes on Lance, tongue and inhibitions apparently loosened by whatever concoction he had been drinking all night. “Lance, you are always, and will always be, the most annoying person I have ever met.”

 

This time it was Lance whose jaw dropped, and Kimberly who laughed, and then Keith leaned over and kissed the girl next to Lance (whose name he didn’t know) on the cheek. She looked surprised, and then blushed.

 

“She’s the least annoying person here because I haven’t heard her talk this whole time,” he said, a bit more loud than he had meant it to be. Then he sneezed, because he was leaning over Lance (who was still in the  _ fucking chicken costume _ ) and his drunken limbs gave out, leaving him to collapse into Lance’s lap. Everyone in the group laughed again, and Keith suddenly realized how tired he was. And how warm and soft Lance’s costume was, even if it did make him sneeze.

 

“I’m going to sleep,” he announced (or maybe yelled). “Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

 

That was the last thing he remembered until morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK U ALL FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ive been busy with school and work and other stuff that i cant remmeber but I AM STILL HERE and still doing my best to update!!! comments and kudos keep me going tbh, every comment gives me a boost of energy and makes me wanna write more so thank u all!! im writing this on my laptop so i cant put any emojis but just know that if i could i would put in the kissy face one
> 
> Also remember to comment anything u think would be funny that you want to happen! im all ears and open to suggestions, and headcanons

**Author's Note:**

> A couple notes: Hunk and Pidge are in an ace relationship so they don't do anything ~sexy~ they just watch robot movies together on Netflix. Not sure Pidge's age in this but I think Hunk, Keith, and Lance are 18-19. Also Keith has hella emotional issues so expect a fair amount of angst lmao. Oh and also who knows Pidge's gender!!!! Not me and not Pidge, at least in this fic.  
> I haven't written in a long time so comments and kudos are sooo appreciated. Also, if you have any ideas on hilarious hijinks the gang could get into, I am trying to make this a slowburn so if I like your suggestion I'll try to fit it in.  
> Tumblr is @dcrao I post a lot of shit but mainly (?) hp and vld so that's something. Hmu there.


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